The desert winds howled through the Southern Vast as the sands whispered of death. The remains of the battlefield still pulsed faintly with Dao Wei's chaos energy, like the echo of a divine catastrophe. The sky was blood-hued—twilight, yet it felt like the dawn of something dark.
A ripple tore across the air.
CRACK!
Then, with a thunderous rumble, a rift opened.
The Ancestor of the Demon Sect stepped forth, draped in obsidian robes embroidered with the writhing sigil of the Serpent Devourer. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but the pressure of his cultivation weighed heavily on the land, making even the winds kneel.
His eyes fell upon the corpse of Diteyi, the once-proud disciple of darkness. Now just a hollow, crumpled husk. Lifeless. Core shattered. Soul erased. There was nothing left for resurrection. No talisman, no ancient spell could revive what Dao Wei had destroyed.
The Ancestor's aura exploded.
"NOOOOOOO!" His voice shook the skies. Black lightning danced in his rage. Sand turned to molten glass under his feet. "He was my chosen! MY CHOSEN!"
The Sect Leader and several Elders arrived, dropping to their knees as they beheld the scorched remains of the battlefield.
One of them dared to speak. "Ancestor… we did not expect—"
"Expect?" the Ancestor turned slowly, voice quivering with quiet fury. "You did not expect a mere stray to tear apart one of our most prized disciples? You did not expect him to consume the Hell Serpent Zodiac like a morning fruit?"
None of them responded. Their silence was louder than screams.
The Ancestor's shadow lengthened, a godless maw stretching toward them. "Bring me Dao Wei's head," he said coldly, "or bring me your own."
"But Ancestor…" The Sect Leader finally found his tongue, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Sword Childe… he's not mortal anymore. The heavens themselves twist around him. There's… something else at work."
The Ancestor stepped forward, voice low, gravelly. "Then pray to your ancestors that your blades are sharp enough to cut through fate. Because I don't care what he is—he has killed my heir."
The Elders exchanged looks. Behind their eyes: doubt, fear, and a gnawing question.
Had they just declared war on a god in the making?
Elsewhere, at the Border of the Deadwood Forest, Dao Wei stood alone atop a jagged rock formation. His robes were torn, stained with blood—his and others. The battle had drained him, his body teetering on collapse, but his eyes—his eyes burned with clarity.
Before him loomed the Deadwood forest, a realm untouched by light. The trees stood twisted, bark like ancient bone, leaves crumbling like ash. There was no sound save the occasional wind dragging across the bark.
Dao Wei exhaled. Smoke curled from his breath—dark, not of fire but of power slowly devouring itself.
A voice echoed inside his head, one that had no origin, no form.
"Descend… and be reborn."
Dao Wei flinched, clutching his sword.
"Who… who are you?" he muttered, but no answer came. Only the cold realization that whatever now stirred inside him—was growing restless.
His hand trembled.
He had no time to think.
Shouts!
From the dune behind, a dozen silhouettes burst forth, demonic robes fluttering, weapons drawn. The three Nirvana Realm pursuers led the way, their eyes lit with bloodlust.
"THERE HE IS!"
Dao Wei leaped from the rock formation, his breath shallow and his knees aching.
"Damn it… not yet," he growled, bolting toward the blackened forest, his steps light, his intent murderous.
The woods accepted him like an old friend. The shadows wrapped around him, and even in his exhaustion, his mind lit up with tactical clarity.
Dao Wei pressed his palm against a withered tree.
A glowing sigil appeared.
"Fractured Mirage."
Rustle!
The tree shattered into a thousand mirrors—false paths scattered through the forest. His enemies crashed in behind him, chasing illusions.
He moved on.
Formation 19: Thorn Vein Stranglehold.
Swoosh!
Thorns burst from the ground, animated by spiritual Qi, entangling one pursuer, slicing through robes and skin.
"GAH!"
A blade screamed through the air toward his back.
He turned sharply—steel clanged against steel.
Blood sprayed.
Bang!
Dao Wei kicked off the attacker's chest, sliding back across the bark-covered soil.
"I'll say it once," Dao Wei muttered, panting. "Leave… or die."
Another attacker lunged. But Dao Wei didn't flinch, instead he took a deep breath.
"Lunar Edge Trap."
Boom!
Five spectral swords exploded from the canopy, spiraling like stars. They pinned the attacker through the arms and legs, suspending him like an offering.
"DAMN YOU!"
The last of the guards hesitated.
Dao Wei looked up. His face was pale, his breath shallow. But his aura… His aura was rising.
"This… is the cost of your pride," he said. "And the beginning of your nightmare."
With a final wave of his hand, he activated Formation 33: Shadow Convergence, blending into the forest shadows and vanishing from sight.
Meanwhile, at the Du Clan, the hall flickered with candlelight, shadows of towering scroll shelves and carved dragons dancing along lacquered walls. Elder Ren's sharp eyes gleamed beneath his silver brows as he leaned over the polished obsidian table, fingers tapping a deliberate rhythm.
"The Sword Childe has survived the duel," a messenger said, bowing, voice shaking slightly.
Elder Lian, stout and grim-faced, grunted. "That wasteland clash should've ended him."
Elder Suji sighed, her dark robes trimmed with golden thread, folded her arms. "You underestimate the boy's will. Again."
The Du Patriarch stood, his voice cold and clear as steel. "This boy refuses to die."
His words hung in the air like smoke after a blade strike.
"He has defied death more times than I can count," Elder Ren murmured. "Survived betrayal, hellfire, Death Zen, and now… Demon Childe."
"And now he's dragging half the martial world into chaos," Suji added, not without a tinge of reluctant awe.
Lian frowned. "He was always a curse in mortal form."
Ren scoffed. "Or a miracle, depending on which side of the blade you're standing."
Meanwhile in a secluded Courtyard—Beyond the stone corridors, a courtyard bathed in moonlight lay still. A single cherry tree, stripped of bloom, swayed in the evening wind like a ghost whispering prayers.
Qing Yao stood under its boughs, lost in thought, her royal regalia rippling in the breeze—silver-embroidered silks catching the swirl of clouds above. Her eyes, though calm, were storm-tossed seas.
'How will he look at me when he learns the truth?' She didn't know what answer scared her more—his silence… or his forgiveness.
"Linger!" a voice broke her reverie.
She turned slowly.
Her maid, breathless, bowed low. "My lady… urgent word from the Inner Hall. The Divine Prince—he's being hunted. They say he's fled to the Deadwood Forest."
Qing Yao's heart clenched.
"By whom?" she asked, voice barely a whisper.
"The three Martian realm enforcers… and the Demon Vanguards. They've sent… everyone."
A long pause. The courtyard grew colder.
Qing Yao didn't cry. She never did. But her clenched fists trembled.
'He's running again… always running. And yet he never turns his back on the storm.'
"Prepare my armor," she said at last, turning toward the moon. "And bring my guards."
"My lady?!"
"I said prepare it. Now."
Across the Realms, in the peaks of the Northern Monastery, atop the floating cities of the Celestial River Sect, and within the deep vaults of the Thousand Eye Clan, voices rose in debate.
"Should we interfere?"
"No. Let the vultures feast first." The second one retorted.
"If he survives this, he'd no longer be just a mortal." Said the third.
"If he does survive, the Heaven's Throne will definitely make their move." The second responded.
"He did kill the Celestial Chosen in cold blood, he might become something worse." Spoke the first voice.
The three figures debated as they sipped on tea, sitting the a jade table.
Meanwhile, at the Deadwood Forest, darkness swallowed the horizon. Trees clawed at the sky like the dead demanding judgment. Dao Wei's every breath was ragged as he leaped between crooked boughs and crumbling rocks, blood dripping from his side.
Each step shook his bones, but his will burned fiercer than the night. Flashbacks tore through his mind—His first blade, dull and chipped.
—The first day he arrived in the Mortal Realm.
—Liu Mingxia's smile.
—The night under the bright moon, drinking with his brothers.
—Jiang Feng's final words.
'They took everything from me… I'll take everything from them.'
The whisper returned.
"Descend, Descend…"
Dao Wei staggered, eyes wide. "Who are you?" he murmured.
But there was no answer.
He stumbled into a clearing and collapsed to one knee, gasping. Skyfall pulsed at his side.
'No time. They're coming.'
In that moment, clarity returned.
His hands moved swiftly across the ground, drawing runes and carving formations into roots and bone. The legacy of the Formation God sang through his fingertips. With each etched symbol, the forest shifted.
Thorns twisted into illusions. Shadows turned into sentries. The very fog became his veil.
"I don't need power," he whispered. "I need time."
Far behind, the three Nirvana powerhouses halted as the terrain twisted around them.
"Where did he go?!"
"He was here. I saw the blood."
But they were caught in a living maze. Dao Wei's escape, a legend in the making, had begun.